


Schrödinger's Bullet

by danwriteskink



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gun Fellatio, Gun Kink, Rough Oral Sex, d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: If Shaw's doing this thing, she's doing it right.





	Schrödinger's Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at ff_a for 100 words of gun blowjobs, here: https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/390312.html?thread=2294193832#cmt2294193832
> 
> Written for 2019 Season of Kink, Rough Sex square.

"Get down on your knees," Shaw says, gun in her lap, hand resting easily on top of it. "If we're doing this thing, we're doing it right." 

It's gratifying, the way Root folds downwards, naked on the concrete of the subway station. Root's mouth is open and ready: lips pulled tight over her teeth like she sucks cock for a living, tongue moving nervous and wet. Shaw feels a hot flood of want, watching her arch her back, watching her nipples get hard with anticipation. She shoves a leg between Root's parted legs, hoists it up hard. When Root arches her back and gives a little whimper, Shaw knows she's crammed enough rough fabric against Root's clit that it's gone past pleasurable friction. It doesn't stop Root from rocking gently back and forth and soon there's a growing wet patch on the leg of Shaw's cargo pants. Shaw laughs, low and hoarse: Root always likes to prove she can take so much. 

She starts with a couple of fingers, pushing them deep and rough down Root's throat, in and out fast until her fingers are slick. Root swallows gamely, chokes a little when Shaw brushes the back of her palate. Then, with the ingenuity of someone used to finding her own way, she adjusts and accommodates, gets the, rhythm of it, throws in a few flourishes, swiping Shaw's palm with her tongue, flicking her hair out of her eyes with a knowing glance. 

"Too easy, huh?" Shaw says. "Let's up the ante." The gun is heavy in Shaw's hand when she slides it between Root's lips. Shaw left it loaded, though the safety is on and she can't make herself slip a finger onto the trigger. She can guide it better with her hand on the grip, shoving it to the back of Root's mouth, listening for the little gasps and clicks that tell her how hard Root is working to accommodate the muzzle down her throat. 

Root's eyes never break contact with hers, even as they stream with tears as she tries to swallow and fails, even as drool spills over and down her chin. Shaw wonders what she tastes on the barrel of the gun: metal, salt from Shaw's skin, maybe the residue of gun oil. 

When Root has the rhythm down, has sorted her gag reflex, and has a steady slide and bob of her head, Shaw finally slips a hand into her own pants, finds her clit, circles it hard. She's holding Root's life right now, every little gasp, every shudder, she could end it with a moment's thought, and Root knows it, keeps pushing down on the gun, keeps swallowing around it. It's not the power that's getting Shaw off, it's that border between alive and dead and how they're both dancing on it. The probabilities are close and crowding around her and she tips over on that potential. When she's finished coming, she drags Root up off her leg, shoves her fingers inside her, brings Root off with her thumb on her clit. 

After, Root lies trembling and soft in Shaw's arms, her hair sweaty and damp against Shaw's lips. Shaw puts the gun on the side table, and lets the possibilities back off for a while.


End file.
